


Trembling Hands

by WonderWolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Catcher Derek, Established Relationship, Fluff, Flyer Stiles, Injury Recovery, M/M, Overcoming Fear, Trapeze Artists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 02:14:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9214469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderWolf/pseuds/WonderWolf
Summary: Stiles’ eyes wander once again, taking in the sight he had avoided for so many months. He can feel a phantom pain thrumming in his arm as he silently remembers the last time he had climbed a ladder so high.Derek halts in the net, as if suddenly remembering something. He turns to look at Stiles, face determined as he confidently says, “I’ll catch you.”Stiles’ lips quirk at Derek’s obvious concern. His boyfriend can be sweet sometimes, he supposes. “You can’t promise that. You know that.”Derek shakes his head, as if he knows without a doubt, that that isn’t possible. “I will catch you.”(AKA 'The Trapeze AU that's been sitting in my folder for a few months now').





	

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to Trembling Hands by Temper Trap and watched the [music video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iW0uYfq3VLU). As someone who is currently learning trapeze and loves it so much, I couldn’t help but feel inspired. I highly encourage watching it just because it deserves it. 
> 
> Here is the [trick](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z25y5LM9KBs) performed in this fic (called a "layout").
> 
> Thanks for beta'ing, Domik!

Stiles enters the building somehow expecting it to be different, but it isn’t. It’s still wide open and cold thanks to the broken window high up on the side of the brick building. It’s part of an old factory, once abandoned and filled with broken bottles when they had spent weeks renovating it, making it theirs.

The light switch snaps on with a click, the ceiling lights flickering on at their presence. The space is eerily quiet with only the two of them in this large space; it’s usually filled with the shouts and laughter of a troupe. 

His troupe.

The giant net hangs feet above the ground in the middle of the room, steady and secure. Stiles’ gut swoops at the familiar sight of the rigging, his palms feeling sweaty as he remembers the feeling of falling. 

Derek’s heavy hands squeeze Stiles’ shoulders as he takes in the view, butterflies filling his stomach. He hasn’t felt this nervous, this sick at the thought of flying, in years—not since his first couple of lessons so long ago. 

He shrugs off his jacket, feeling the hairs on his arms prickle from the cold. He’s wearing his thickest pair of dark tights and a long sleeved shirt, but it’s not enough to keep the chill away. It’s winter—the sky so dark for so early in the day, and the neighboring factory building’s lights illuminate the soft little flurries that flutter down from the sky, leaving a trail of white on the ground outside.

Stiles watches silently as Derek shrugs off his shirt as if the cold doesn’t touch him. He locks the doors behind them before moving towards the chalk bucket to start rubbing the soft powder on his calloused hands and muscular forearms.

Stiles’ eyes wander once again, taking in the sight he had avoided for so many months. He can feel a phantom pain thrumming in his arm as he silently remembers the last time he had climbed a ladder so high, the last time he had fallen into a net, the last time… 

This building, this room, had been his life for so long—and he’d given it up in an instant, fear gripping him like a vice every time he even thought about returning. The longer he had spent healing, the harder it had gotten to come back. He had wanted to, many times, but the fear had become overwhelming and then he couldn’t. He just…couldn’t.

But he’s here now.

He’s here now.

“You okay?” 

Stiles startles out of his thoughts, his hand halting it’s comforting, subconscious movement against his arm. Derek’s watching him intently, as if searching to see if Stiles is going to back out.

He won’t. He wants to fly again, wants to remember how it had felt. He remembers liking it, something about it had made him feel powerful once.

“I’m fine,” Stiles rasps through a dry throat. He tugs up his shirt sleeves, ignoring the fear that’s desperately screaming in the back of his mind for his attention. _Don’t do it,_ it screams. “Let’s do this.”

Derek nods, grabbing onto the edges of the net and hoisting himself up onto it in a smooth, slow and controlled motion that Stiles had always envied. He was never that graceful whenever he’d tried that.

Derek halts in the net, as if suddenly remembering something. He turns to look at Stiles, face determined as he confidently says, “I’ll catch you.”

Stiles’ lips quirk at Derek’s obvious concern. His boyfriend can be sweet sometimes, he supposes. “You can’t promise that. You know that.”

Derek shakes his head, as if he knows without a doubt, that that isn’t possible. “I _will_ catch you."

Stiles inhales sharply and nods, a short tilt of his head in acknowledgement. But it’s enough.

As Derek ascends the rope to the catch trap, Stiles quickly pats the chalk onto his hands, not needing much for this part. 

The ladder is bright yellow, tall and intimidating as it leads to the board nearly thirty feet above the ground. It isn’t even that high up, compared to other rigs he’s been on, _performed on_ , but it’s enough to get his pulse thrumming through his veins. This had once been the easiest part, Stiles remembers, and he swallows, reaching out with a hand. He grips each rung, mind going blank as he focuses on getting to the board.

He just has to get there.

He reaches the top and starts by sitting on the small platform, his feet quaking slightly from where they rest on the top rung of the ladder. On the next breath, he’s using the nearby platform bars to lift himself until he’s standing. He might be trembling, but only he has to know.

It’s like he’s functioning on auto-pilot, his hands dipping into the chalk bag as he mindlessly distributes the powder on his hands and arms. He adds a little extra to keep his clammy hands dry.

His breaths are coming in shallow and fast and he inhales deeply, trying to regain control as he uses the hook to pull the trapeze bar into his waiting hand. He switches his grip as he drops the hook and grabs onto the platform bar with his left hand. The trapeze bar sits heavy in his right palm, its weight pulling him forward slightly, his toes at the edge of the board as he looks out. 

Hips forward, shoulders back, arm outstretched.

Derek’s solid back is facing him as he sits on the catcher’s trapeze, swinging patiently as he waits for Stiles’ call.

"Layout lining up!" Stiles yells, voice embarrassingly shaky though neither of them mention it. Derek smoothly transitions to hanging by his knees as he swings, getting prepared for the trick.

The net below suddenly seems so far away, and Stiles’ hand clenches around the platform’s bar as he remembers falling, dropping, landing with a sharp crack and the feeling of pain, a resounding gasp from the audience.

_“I’ll catch you.”_

Stiles inhales again, closing his eyes for a moment as he collects himself. He opens his eyes, this time focusing only on Derek on the other side.

_Derek_.

The memory flashes through his mind’s eye, unwanted and unbidden.

Derek’s eyes, wide and shocked as Stiles slipped through his grip. Something had gone wrong, the timing wasn’t right. There had been no way that trick was going to be caught. 

That’s not normally a problem, though. No one can be caught all of the time. But the trick had just gone so _very_ wrong and poor timing was only the start.

Derek had called out his name, though it was drowned out by the sounds of the show’s music blasting through speakers around them.

In that moment, his mind had gone blank as he fell, landing wrong. One moment, one stupid moment and everything had changed. It had been a complete accident, but accidents happen.

Accidents happen. 

People make mistakes. 

Bones break. 

Careers end.

Or sometimes, for the lucky ones, they don’t end. They’re just paused. 

“Listo,” Stiles says, his voice soft and cracking. Derek keeps swinging, clearly not having heard him. He takes a shuddering breath, his fingers squeezing around the bar until the skin’s as white as the power, as he shouts, more confidently, “ _Listo_!”

They’d discussed the trick—a layout, one of Stiles’ favorites—inside and out so many times over the past few weeks, preparing for this moment. But he can’t help but worry that Derek had forgotten. Maybe he’s preparing for the wrong move, maybe his timing won’t be right, he won’t—

“Ready!” Derek calls out, his voice powerful as it echoes in the empty silence of the building’s walls. Stiles pushes the thoughts from his mind, watching as Derek swings, his knees wrapped around the bar.

Stiles’ legs shakily obey the command and bend, although his mind is still whirring with hundreds of possibilities. What if he’s not strong enough to hold his own weight anymore? What if he’s just not as good as he used to be? It’s been months since he last practiced, he might be awful now. What if he messes up? What if he disappoints Derek?

“Hep!” Derek yells. Stiles jumps without a thought, his left hand coming to wrap around the bar as he drops and swings with the momentum. The rhythm comes back to him, feeling almost instinctual now, as he sweeps back, forward, back, and pulls up into a seven position and holds it…then drops, kicking back for power.

He uses the backwards motion as a boost and then sweeps forward and up with his legs—giving him enough momentum to flip in the air. He sees the net and reaches out, searching for Derek—it’s a split second where his mind whirls with unpleasant memories and outcomes and ‘what if’s. But Derek’s there, grinning as his hands wrap solidly around Stiles’ wrists. Stiles grabs back just as tightly, a wide grin on his face as he swings in Derek’s grip.

“You ready?” Derek asks and Stiles grunts in affirmation, letting go as Derek releases him. Time seems to extend as he falls, and he falls, and he falls. 

His head tips back so that he can look at the ceiling as he lands on his back, bouncing with the momentum of his fall.

He’s still smiling as Derek swings back to a sitting position, his hands gripping the sides of the trapeze as he smiles softly down at Stiles, pride clear on his face.

They have a lot of work to do before he’s able to perform again, but—Stiles gazes up at his boyfriend, both of them laughing breathlessly and ridiculously happy—he thinks he’s up for the task.

After all, a catcher’s nothing without a flyer.

**Author's Note:**

> ***If you're looking for another short sterek fic to read, check out my other recently-posted fic [Kill Your Heroes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8839087). (Shameless self plug right there).
> 
> Please leave kudos or (especially) a comment if you liked it :) Let me know what you think!  
> I tried something new with this fic: more description and less dialogue, which differs greatly from my usual writing style, but I'm pretty happy with how it came out.


End file.
